


The Ancient Runes of Gilead

by GothicLust



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fantasy, LiveJournal 500 Theme Challenge (The Dragon), M/M, Magic, Male Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-10 23:19:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GothicLust/pseuds/GothicLust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When whole villages begin to disappear from the Kingdom, Arthur and his Knights search for answers, not knowing that their quest will uncover deep hidden secrets of magic and their connection to a young man-servant of a King destined for greatness.</p>
<p>Pairings: Arthur/Gwen, Gwaine/Merlin</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ancient Runes of Gilead

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Merlin characters, cast or plotline. This work is purely a thing of fiction and is only meant for entertainment purposes. Money was not made by the writing of, or post of, this work of fan fiction. No copyright infringement was meant, this is all in good fun.
> 
> Author's Note: I decided to write this, for shits and giggles. I'm going to try to take on the 500 theme challenge on Live Journal with this story. It might not work, but I'll do my best. :D

Theme 68: Dying Land (398 words)

Shadows raked across the vast trenches of ashen land. Scorn earth turned outward from the gashes crossed among the rotting hills and desolate plains of a once prosperous village. The fragile black timber bones of houses and crushed mortar stone walls dotted the wasted village nestled softly in the alcove of a forest bordering a fat river to the north.

Merlin looked upon the sight, aghast. Nothing lived within the ruins. There were no lingering souls of the wrongly departed and there was no seedling trying to burst through rotten soil to reclaim the cultivated land in wild majesty. Most importantly, the land was devoid of any inherent magic it should possess, and that fact alone frightened him greatly.

The red cloaks of Camelot's Knights darted between the bones of the village, searching in vain for survivors of their kinsmen. Merlin, ashen faced and solemn, joined the search sluggishly. Heavy eyed, he lightly stepped over a deep gash in the earth before the remains of a once impressive home, entering the open threshold where within Arthur stood, clutching the burnt fur of a child's toy.

"Who would do something like this?" He whispered to the doll. Merlin knew he wasn't expecting an answer, especially from his clumsy man-servant, but he tried to sooth the wounded heart of his lord anyway.

"There was nothing you could have done." Placing his hand onto that of his friend's gloved ones, Merlin continued softly. "Whoever did this did it some time ago."

Thin lips set into a strong jaw synched and turned down. A tightened gloved hand clenched the ashen remains of the doll, loosening clumps of black fur and unrefined cotton stuffing. A forceful push and the doll hit against the remains of a mortar wall, exploding into dust and odd bits of burnt fluff.

"Gather the dead." He shouted to whoever was near, forcefully turning from Merlin so that the rough stitching of his leather gloves scraped against his soft fingertips. Knights turned to look at him, just as ashen faced as Merlin had been as he stumbled among the debris. "They deserve a proper resting place than this nightmarish place."

The men turned to their assigned task and searched as well as they could before night fell. However their search was in vain, for there was nothing left in that ruined city but ash and the stench of evil.

Theme 110: Weary Wanderer (489 words)

They made camp for the night on the outskirts of the village, hoping the rancid air would not haunt them as they slept, if they slept.

Merlin stirred the coals beneath the fire, the red glow of embers dancing around the black pot simmering above with the simple foraged contents of stew. He poked mindlessly, his magic wrestling with the dark emptiness of the village, a torn whole in the fabric of woven magic that blanketed every living thing. The loose weave rippled with the stirrings and meanderings of his campmates, Arthur, particularly, paced between two large trees, the gap of which overlooked the ruins of the village, nearly invisible in the darkness, much like it was missing from the weave itself.

The ruined remains sat just on the edge of Merlin's awareness, a gaping emptiness in his conscious combing of the natural energies as he scanned for any oddness and dangers of the magical sort.

"Merlin! The pot!" Gwaine, with a large heavy hand, pulled Merlin backwards away from the overspill of tempest stew hissing from the lifted lid, spraying heatedly into the air.

Percival rushed forward as well, pulling the heavy thing from the fire onto a bed of cool earth were the hissing metal protested against the ground, rising steam from the damp soil in soft, flowing gray curls.

"You alright, Merlin?" Elyan asked, offering a hand to him were he lay prostrate behind Gwaine's large back that shielded him from the hot spray.

"Er, I think so." He blinked, and slowly ran a hand along his tunic, searching for injuries or possibly brushing off dirt. "Thanks." He nodded towards Gwaine, the man's shaggy waves bouncing as he nodded as well.

"No worries Merlin," He laughed good-naturedly and clapped him forcefully on the shoulder. "Without you, who'd cook?"

The men laughed as well, but their joy was not full hearted. The haunting memories of such a cursed place resting merely across the shallow edge of the forest bleed into their mirth, bleaching their souls of warmth and draining their spirits, leaving them tired, and cold, and weary as their travels caught up.

Merlin tried to smile as well, but the pacing figure of their solemn King, the gaping hole in the fabric of magic within his perceptions, and the ashen remains of a village stoic amongst the dark horizon, its silhouette nearly invisible but to those searching, and pacing, and waiting for the tempest that wrought such destruction, dampened him. And much like the Knights that sat back against the rough trees, weary, cold and desperate for some relief, Merlin checked the stew and divided it evenly, hoping that the warmth of food could chase their weariness and fear of the village away long enough to get some much needed sleep.

That is, if they could sleep knowing that the darkness was only a thin veil against the horrors that took place not too far away.

Theme 132: Ripple Effect (596 words)

They came across another village torn, gashed, ruined and scorched several miles west of the last one. Deep scars in the earth divided the little town, cutting through homes and farms and road side stalls unevenly.

Mechanically they searched for survivors, but really, they searched for the desecrated dead. Ash and foul stench was all that remained curling amongst the bones of the city, wafting high in the heat of the mid-day sun and stomping stirrings of Knights and horses searching and praying.

Merlin lingered in the fabric within his mind, settling at the clean cut edge that surrounded the village. Emptiness stared back at him, pulling in light and magic with it slowly, and he backed away cautiously, fearing that if he fell in, his mind may never return from such an abyss.

This was the second gaping hole in the fabric of magic that he had encountered. He could see the soft undercurrents that cut and tried to connect the two chasms, curving slightly with the earth. It frayed at the woven tapestry of natural energies and made Merlin dizzy to try and begin to follow their path. It drew the magic and light away from his eyes, blinding him suddenly, enough so that he staggered back in reality, one foot slipping on the soft dirt at the foot of a hill, colliding with Arthur.

He was thrust out of his mind and onto drew moistened grass and sun heated metal of Arthur's chainmail. They flailed and tangled as they grappled to free themselves of each other. The rest of the Knights took sport to jeer and laugh at the gangly grace, taking slight reprieve from the horrors of a burned down city to laugh at their King and his servant tussling in the grass.

Merlin rolled in and out of grass and woven magic, frantically searching for a way to end their struggle as he came closer towards the rippled edges of the abyss.

Heated metal scorched his unprotected hands as he pushed Arthur's barreled chest. Leather and rough cotton slid along one another as large hands braced against a thin forearm and grasped firm, stopping all struggles at the side of a dirt road, just teetering over the edge of wispy golden magic threads.

"Merlin!" The rumble of Arthur's voice was deep and hissing, expressing his annoyance greatly by rasping him on the head, muffling hair and conscience into disarray as Merlin pulled himself free of the magical cloth that threatened to give way beneath the subtle weight of his mind. "What the hell did you think you were doing!"

"Sorry," he mumbled distractedly, rubbing against his bruised arm as he breathed to clear his mind.

"Sorry isn't going to get the grass stains out of my clothes, or the water off my chainmail. This will rust you know!" Arthur stood brushing bits of grass off places in the chainmail, and readjusted his sword that twisted in the scuffle.

"I'll clean it when we make camp, then." Merlin sighed heavily and stood. "For now, can we just get out of here, I don't like this place."

"I agree with Merlin." Elyan shivered and prepared to mount his horse. "I couldn't sleep at all last night next to that God forsaken place."

"Turning chicken now?" Gwaine smiled lopsidedly and tossed an apple core at Elyan's head, which the man had to lean back to avoid. "Scared of ghosts?"

"It's not the ghosts that I'm worried about." Merlin mumbled as they prepared to leave, hastening to find safe camping grounds for the evening ahead.

Theme 78: Frantic Search (567 words)

Their return to Camelot was heralded by the echoes of hooves on stone. The courtyard stood empty, as it has been since Morgana's usurp a few months prior. The people had not begun to trust their new way of life so easily. A week beneath the witch's rain had dampened their moral as a unified citadel and left much of the courtyard and market stalls empty. Most businesses closed and moved to secluded parts of the city, or out of Camelot entirely.

Merlin gave the horses over to the stablemen and meandered his way to Gaius, his mind still traversing lightly on the weaves of magic that flickered where Morgana had done some damage. This damage, however, was light compared to the gaping holes where two villages once stood.

"Ah, back already. And I thought I was nearly free of such a useless pupil." Gaius smiled wide, wild graying hair tossed about by the wind as Merlin opened the door to their home.

"Can't get rid of me that easily." Merlin entered and hugged his long time friend and mentor, his cheek rubbing against the stressed cotton of Gaius' work robes.

A critical eye cast itself over lank hair, sallow skin and tired face. A frown marred the man as he placed a weathered hand against lightly feverish skin.

"You don't look so well, Merlin." Grasping his thin shoulders, the old man led him to a work bench. "Perhaps you should sit down and let me have a look at you."

"Gaius, I'm fine. It's just-" and there he paused, unsure of how to explain such odd happenings, especially when all perceptions of it where within his own mind. "Something's wrong." He finished, grasping his head with his hands.

"I don't know how to explain it to you," he took the cup of water handed to him and drained it quickly, his dizziness setting in once more. He could feel the magic rippling beneath his feet and slacken a bit, but otherwise remained as it was.

"What is it?"

"I think someone's messing around with magic."

"Well that's hardly a surprise!" Gaius threw out his hands, waiving Merlin's concerns away. "People are always trying to practice magic."

"No, Gaius. I mean, they're destroying the fabric of magic itself."

"I don't quite understand what you mean." The old man tilted his head and sat down beside him on the bench. "How does someone even do something like that? And how could you possibly know someone is destroying magic?"

"I can see it, Gaius. The fabric." Merling rubbed his eyes, the gold light of the weave forced itself into his mind, and he tried to push it back out, settling his conscious with a few staggered breaths. "Like I said, it's not easy to explain, but I just can. And I know someone is doing something because two villages are burnt to the ground and where they stood are two gaping holes in the natural energies.

"I don't know what to do, Gaius." He said after some time. "How can I possibly fix something like that, when it hurts to even be near it?"

"Well, we best start hitting the books then!" Gaius stood, the motion cracking a few odd joints. "You've been rather remiss on your studies lately."

"Couldn't quite help that, Morgana had rule of the castle for over a week." And thus began a frantic search.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked this new Idea that I have. It's the first time I write for this series, so I hope I've got everyone down pat.


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